


Tank You Very Much

by Sunruner



Series: Sunny's Commissions! [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 10:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12528884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunruner/pseuds/Sunruner
Summary: Commissioned by our Famfrit RP Group. The Warriors of Light have suffered two damning losses on the road to Azys Lla: their knight of Ishgard, and their young white mage. It falls to Aymeric to replenish the ranks of Hydaelyn's chosen, but where can the Lord Commander begin to look? Right there. Like, literally, right over there. That's the one!





	Tank You Very Much

**Author's Note:**

> This was a $6 Commission paid for via my Ko-fi account! My cat-boy tank was two and a half expansions late to the party, and our RP group commissioned the when and how of his recruitment to the Scions and, soon after, the Warriors of Light. Join us on the Famfrit NA Server!

One has to be tactful when suggesting a major adjustment to the composition of party and formation, and thoughtful beyond that when such suggestions run directly into territories plagued with grief.

But Aymeric De Borel, Lord Commander of the Temple Knights, was nothing if not tactful _and_ thoughtful. As well as, not to tout his own horn, utterly pragmatic. When some of your closest friends are adventurers already twice robbed of key members of their outfit, and at the hands of the same villainous cast, it is only tactful, thoughtful, and pragmatic to start seeking out those best suited to fill the gaps and balm the wounds.

This really isn’t the time or the situation to be thinking of a recruitment speech for one party or a _‘please humour me a moment I know none of you will want to hear this’_ speech for the other, but here he is: atop Foundation’s walls looking over a bloody and desperate battle against a clutch of Nidhogg’s foul brood. There are Temple Knights, Ishgardian Artillery, and southern Adventurers fighting shoulder to shoulder to hold the wall, and from that last faction there is one who stands out.

He _really_ stands out.

A warrior in full body black armour sprints from his position, axe head trailing just behind him, tail out and back for stability. Aymeric watches with a command on his lips as the Miqo’te vaults a set of crates, onto the head of a jammed dragonkiller, runs up the machine and leaps right off the mouth of the cannon. His axe comes down with a bloody two-handed chop from above, and bites deep and bloody into the crown of a dragon’s head. The beast recoils and screams from the blow, the acidic fire of its breath gutting out past its teeth. It’s not dead, but its assailant isn’t done yet either.

He lands smart on both feet after his jump and immediately lunges forward, knees bent and weight centred low, so when he swings his axe horizontally in a spin the Warrior dances forward and around. he gouges the dragon’s forelimb before side-stepping and raising the weapon over his head again, a war-cry pulling through the air before he slams the cutting edge down into rib and scale.

The dragon is bloodied and gives a furious roar, turning away from the dragonkiller and the few soldiers who leap back up to try and unjam the machine. The warrior assaults the creature again when one of the soldiers jams her pike into the dragon’s flank, keeping the beast’s attention away from the cannon crew.

And then he takes off running again, outraging the wounded dragon he leaves behind and encouraging it to follow. Aymeric looks away to command the company behind him to signal another volley of heavy artillery over the wall, and back again to watch the warrior give a flying leap and let a tomahawk streak away from his hand. The weapon slams into another dragon’s leg, buckling it at the knee and bringing his charge right into the path of furious ice and aether. He doesn’t duck or avoid the spray, simply barrels through it and engages the creature head-on with his axe deflecting teeth and cutting into the dragon’s maw.

He holds his position and his prey firmly in the same spot, barely moving except when he simply must avoid one of the dragon’s larger attacks. Aymeric can afford to take his eyes off the warrior to sweep the battle again and make corrections to the current tactics, but is drawn back when a beam of precision magic manages to cut across the battlements and narrowly avoid hitting either of the dragons currently bearing down on the warrior.

“You- _missed!?_ ” Aymeric hears the yowl in the Miqo’te’s voice from way up here, and feels a stab of sympathy for the tank’s plight. Several yalms back is a bard in free company colours, and he looks gutted by his own wasteful performance. The warrior yells something else which is lost to the battle below, but it gets the elezen firing again, and dodging with a bit more focus and dedication to their craft. Pinya would never miss a limit break.

As if to apologize for the blunder, two showering curtains of glittering light wrap around the warrior, a wellspring of healing energy lighting up the ground at his feet. An odd choice in timing, and not one Felih would make. One of the dragons rears up on its hind legs and takes off into the sky, and the warrior correctly begins to dash away from his immediate party members, drawing the beast’s attack down the line towards Aymeric’s position.

“Next time-!” He’s got his axe in one hand and his other arm pumping for more speed as he sprints, “-save the big heal for _after_ the big-!” He’s shouting over his shoulder before skidding to a halt with his weapon up in a guard, right under Aymeric’s platform.

The dragon comes slamming down into the warrior and the battlements. Aymeric staggers from the rumbling blast, but spears and arrows hail down on the beast as he quickly checks over the side to see if the adventurer still lives.

He does! Albeit clamped in the bloody jaws of said dragon. He’s still kicking and there’s a feral sound emanating from the warrior, whose axe is left behind but a sharp dagger clutched in one hand mutilates the dragon’s nostrils, and with a transfer to the other hand, takes out its eye. The beast recoils and drops him, hard, on the ground where he then struggles to rise, and Aymeric can see down the ramparts that his companions have unwisely chosen to remain at the far end of the battle. Clearly, this is not a party that has fought together in any noteworthy capacity before.

The urge to simply draw his sword and leap into the fray is deeply seductive, but Aymeric is the commander of the city’s defenses and- he absolutely draws his sword and leaps before Lucia has a chance to stop him.

As Aymeric falls, he cuts the air with the long blue edge of his blade and feels the catch and rip of dragon hide. He slashes a terrible and bloody gash down the beast’s neck and it retreats by a few hissing steps with its wings pocked by arrow and magical rays. Aymeric lands and advances on it, but not too quickly or too far: he did not come down here to slay the dragon for blood-sport, but to allow the fighter behind him the respite to do what comes next.

He holds the beast’s maimed gaze, not an easy feat, but it prevents further immediate attacks. The dragon recoils and then roars, half-blind and bleeding. Behind it, the warrior’s original party have finally caught up and begin to attack it from behind, though the healer appears to be much too far out of range to assist her tank.

“He’s all yours,” the Warrior pants at Aymeric, an arm across his gut which he pulls back and checks to see it wet with blood. “We softened ‘im up, Lord Commander, _be my guest._ ”

Aymeric hears the crinkle of broken glass from a healing potion, the bottle shattering to turn the potion into a mist that can enter both the wounds and the warrior’s mouth and nose as he breathes. With the scratch and kick of metal, his main arm is retrieved and the adventurer stands. Excellent: a brief rest was all he required. The dragon is flagging and retreats by another weak step into the onslaught of magic and pain behind it.

“I would know the name of the one who so deftly softened _two_ dragons on his own, good sir.”

“O’rhok Tia,” The warrior rambles off quickly, a black circlet is closed around his forehead and temples, holding back the dark blue of his hair while still leaving his long ears room to pivot and keep him alert. He wipes a streak of thin red blood from his mouth as he approaches the wounded dragon. “And it was a team effort,” now he sounds a touch jaded.

The dragonkillers fire in unison, and there’s a deafening peal from beyond the edge of the wall that Aymeric knows sounds a retreat for the hoard. He brings his sword up deliberately with both hands, and the adventurer beside him readies his axe.

“Nice to meet someone who knows how to swap, Commander.” O’rhok Tia, soon-to-be Scion of the Seventh Dawn, says with a grin.

Aymeric smiles. Sami will like him too.

“Shall we dance?” He offers, and there’s an infectious glee in the warrior’s grin.

“ _HELL YEAH!”_

And they do.

 


End file.
